If I Can Breathe
by starscriptmage
Summary: Written for FT Angst Week 2016 on tumblr. Some ships, some family/friendship moments, maybe even some fluff, but mostly angst. Prompt 5: Gildarts wakes with her name on his tongue. (Dedicated to frogron)
1. natsu and lucy

**My first FT Angst Week participation! This is a short little ficlet for Bonus Day One, hope you like it! So pumped for this week, I've actually written almost everything in advance, so rest assured. There will be DEFINITELY no repeat of my Gruvia and Gajevy week failures. ;v;This is unedited and probably more angsty than necessary but here you go. Tomorrow's little oneshot will be edited, I promise, but I desperately need a good night's rest before then!**

 **Prompt:** Cross My Heart

* * *

Natsu prides himself on being able to keep his word.

Until he realizes that his word has no worth whatsoever. His word doesn't brighten the darkness of the world. His word doesn't make a difference one way or another when the course of war takes its toll on his friends.

His word has no say in life or death.

He's a liar. A grinning, innocent, naive little liar. It makes him sick to look at himself in the mirror, because _she's_ not beside him anymore (fussing, laughing, her arm fitting snugly around the crook of his like two puzzle pieces), and _whose fault is that now_?

 _\- I'll protect -_

It's stupid, actually, once he really thinks about it. When had he ever kept any of his promises before? He promised to find Igneel, and didn't. He promised to take care of Lisanna, and couldn't. He promised - He promised -

 _\- your future -_

But promises aren't set in stone. That becomes all too clear when he sees the light in his life ( _her hair, her hands, her eyes - her mind, her heart, her soul_ ) extinguish in a blink, as easily snuffed out as a flicker of flame under a finger.

 _-_ our _future -_

The stars try to illuminate the sky for him, the sun shines so bright it burns his eyes, the moon strikes through the night - hard and true and honest - but nothing can make up for the Luce-sized hole that remains by his side. She was brighter than the stars, brighter than the sun, brighter than the moon, but she -

"I trust you, Natsu."

Words spoken with absolute, unquestioning earnesty, accompanied by ringing finality of insistent belief.

His hands used to fit so well in hers. Now they're empty, blood tracing every edge and line of his palm, making its way under his fingernails, staining his cold fingers.

He clenches his fist hard as the fire wreathing his arms fades into nothingness.

She trusted him. _She trusted him._ Like no one else could: with unyielding strength, with a strong mind, with a doubtless soul, with unconditional love.

 _But where did trust in me get you, Luce?_

Natsu closes his eyes when the gravity of a life without his precious Lucy slams down on his shoulders, and for a moment, he can almost see the stars smiling behind his eyelids.


	2. erza and jellal

**First time writing Jerza and I feel like I've already messed up.**

 **Prompt:** Silence

* * *

Erza being silent is the only thing worse than Erza shouting.

At least when she's shouting, he knows exactly what he's done wrong: in full detail, peppered with angry questions and furious demands, that is.

When she turns quiet, Jellal isn't so sure about anything: himself, his motives, her thoughts, her feelings.

Erza manages to turn the smallest moment of stillness into a deadly member of her armory. Even now, he can feel the silence penetrating his wavering shield of determination.

Her long scarlet hair, still beautiful despite the sweat and dirt, folds silkily around her frame, her rapidly blinking eyes devoid of malice or warmth. Her fingers - long, graceful, rough and callused from countless battles gone past - grip her arm so tightly her nails are bound to leave crimson crescents behind. Her lips, pink and full and slightly parted to reveal a glint of white, quiver speechlessly for one horrible moment as she assesses the situation with the last shreds of her logical mind.

Jellal cannot move. He cannot speak. He cannot do anything except for gape back at her pathetically, like a fish in a tank.

The silence stretches on and on, as Erza's jaw trembles, her complexion turning ashen and faded. He involuntarily reaches for his heart (but it won't stop accelerating) as her gaze flicks from him to the pool of red spreading slowly beneath their feet.

Jellal tries to breathe, but his lungs sputter in protest at the dawning realization in Erza's eyes.

 _No._

The steel trap of guilt encases him in a cage of raw self-consciousness. Seeing Erza happy made the world bright. Seeing Erza sad made him frustrated at his own inability to cheer her up. Seeing Erza angry made him both terrified and in awe of the destruction she laid in her wake. Seeing Erza distraught -

If there was anything Jellal hates more than his past mistakes, it's seeing her helpless.

Anything would be better than this - prison, torture, death. Anything.

 _No. Not this way. It's not supposed to end this way._

Anything but the growing shock and horror in her distant eyes.

 _I did it for you,_ he wants to say. _I had a good reason. This isn't what it looks like. I didn't - I wasn't -_

"Jellal?" she whispers, her voice ragged and worn at the edges. Her hands, porcelain-white and a distressingly stark contrast between the growing dark spots in his vision and the red climbing over his chest and shoulders, reach for him desperately. As if he meant something to her. As if seeing him like this hurt her.

As if she cared for him.

His eyelashes flutter and he suddenly loses his breath completely. Even in sorrow and confusion, Erza is beyond lovely. The slope of her nose meeting the tip - the golden tint in her eyes showing him two reflections of himself - the tears starting to bubble over - there's so much he hasn't yet seen of her yet. So much he doesn't know.

It almost makes him regret his decision.

Almost.

But not quite.

"Finally," he breathes out, his voice barely audible even to his own ears. "Finally have I - "

He lets his fingers stroke the line of her jaw (ignoring the streak of red his thumb paints against her cheekbones), allowing one last mercy, one last moment of pleasure, before letting his hand fall away. Her sudden lurch of breath, the warm droplets wetting his cheeks, the slide of gravity making the world reel -

He smiles, glad that she will be the last thing he sees in this world.

" _Finally have I atoned for my sins._ "


	3. gray and juvia

**This is yesterday's entry, since I was unable to upload then. The next one will be up soon, after I finish editing it.**

 **…this feels like a sad compensation for my Gruvia Week flop. But here it is, for your reading pleasure ;v;**

 **Prompt:** Spellbound

* * *

Maybe Gray already lost his chance.

Maybe, along the way, there was a moment of hesitation from the other end. A single thought - _why am I doing this?_ \- or a single doubt. Maybe he waited for too long. Or maybe he didn't wait long enough.

Maybe he didn't shut her out.

Maybe he just shut himself in.

Either way, it's already too late, he thinks as the person he'd least wanted to see walk in with Juvia hanging onto his arm, chatting animatedly, an affectionate light shining in her eyes - the same light he used to see directed at himself. The same light that has died down to embers, because of him.

For a second, he hates her. For a second, he hates _him_. For a second, he hates himself.

A small, traitorous voice laughs at the back of his mind, whispering, _that could have been you_.

 _That could have been you, happy. That could have been you, laughing. That could have been you, stroking her cheek. That could have been you, in_ love.

He hates that little voice.

But most of all, he hates it that even now, she's beautiful - incomparably, stunningly, painfully beautiful - in his eyes.

Never has he ever felt such a pull - an insistent tug in his chest - toward another human being.

But it took him far too long to realize what that feeling was, and when he finally did, she'd already turned away.

It was expected of her to. With a person like him - well, Gray can't imagine _how_ Juvia managed to love him wholly, completely, unconditionally. For him, that was impossible. Impossible to comprehend. Impossible to receive. Impossible to return.

Until now.

And even so, that isn't enough, and it's already too late, anyways.

Lyon, being the 'gentlemanly prince' type, has the decency not to parade Juvia around arrogantly. Even though the delusional moron has literally less sense in his little finger than a drunk, half-conscious Natsu has in his entire body, he's smart enough (and considerate enough, Gray notes with a jolt of furious gratitude) not to rub it into his 'rival's face.

Gray can't bear to watch it, but he can't look away. The glow of joy surrounding Juvia is hard to ignore in the first place. Even in a simple dress, with her hair let down, she looks lovely: health and happiness give her cheeks a pleasant rosy hue; and the crinkle of her eyes, the quirk of her mouth, and the curve of her jaw are all accentuated by the shimmer of sunlight.

He watches wordlessly as she covers her mouth with her hand, laughing softly at a joke Lyon sends flippantly her way, and as he laughs alongside her, eyes never leaving her face. She turns to look at the other ice mage when he tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and something slams sharply down into Gray's throat. And it's not because of how _perfect_ she looks. It's not because of Lyon's hand wrapping around the sweet, slight slope of her shoulders. It's because of how she's looking at her boyfriend.

Her expression is one of adoration - of understanding - of _love._

Gray wishes fervently at that very moment that he had the ability to freeze his heart, because it's starting to throb feverishly within his chest, and the unfamiliar feeling is making uncertainty settle deep within his bones.

Beside him, he can feel Natsu and Lucy touch his bare arm gently: the former in silent comprehension, the latter in empathy. He tries to brush them off, but his weak attempts are stopped by a harsh chop to the head from Gajeel and a sympathetic hum from Mirajane.

Then _she_ turns to look at him.

And Gray suddenly cannot breathe.

In her eyes - her sea-blue eyes, sparkling with mirth and pure contentment, the eyes he now admired for the gentle strength and unrelenting determination that lay within them - shine emotion. Strong emotion. _Juvia,_ he thinks with something akin to shamed awe. The raw feeling in her eyes - it's adoration. It's understanding. It's _love_.

But love for a close friend.

He thinks he can sort of feel what Juvia felt when he brushed her off so many times.

Except she had a chance back then. A chance for beginning again. A chance for a shift in emotions. She had a chance, but never knew it. She had a chance, but despite not being aware of it, pressed onward until her roots had wrapped around his heart. She had - _has_ \- a chance that he'll always be offering.

And the difference is, _he_ doesn't have a chance anymore. And, Gray thinks distantly as Lyon sweeps a pink-cheeked Juvia off the floor in his arms, he probably never will again.


	4. elfman, mirajane, and lisanna

**Prompt 3:** Family

* * *

He was supposed to take care of his sisters.

It was his _job._ His duty. As the man of the family, he was the one who was supposed to guard them, heart, soul, and body. He was supposed to fight for them, swords, fists, or words. He was supposed to protect them.

Well, what a good job of _that_ he'd done.

Once, in happier times, he'd dreamed that he'd be the best brother in the world. He'd fight any boy hopeful of winning his sisters' hands. He'd challenge any suitors to brawls, and win (or lose) - and give (or take back from) them his approval. He'd bring Mirajane and Lisanna to shop for clothes, hold their bags for them until his arms ached, and pay for their meals no matter how much they protested. He'd massage Mira's shoulders when she woke up sore, and teach Lisanna all the tips and tricks of Takeover transitions. He'd squeeze Mirajane's hands and pinch Lisanna's cheeks when she puffed them out in indignation. He'd attend their weddings and cry his eyes out, manly or not. He'd walk each down the aisle with equal joy and pain. He'd raise his nieces and nephews with as much care as possible, and teach them Takeover magic, if any of them inherited the talent. He'd be there for them, no matter what, no matter where, no matter how.

Elfman cannot see that future anymore.

A good brother would be able to take care of his sisters. A good brother would be able to guard them from the cruelties of the world. A good brother would be able to fight for them, for their lives, for their dignities, for their sakes.

A good brother _should have_ been able to protect his sisters.

It's nobody's fault but his that Mirajane has mellowed over the years, her clothes, attitude, and way of thinking changing drastically. It's nobody's fault but his that there's a dark emptiness shadowing Natsu's formerly sunny smile. It's nobody's fault but his that Bixlow ( _who would've known that he'd felt that way?_ Elfman thinks dimly to himself) can only bear speaking to his dolls now, that his voice falters when he turns around to say, "Lis, look -", that he's started wearing a mask over an unrestrained expression of hollow pain.

It's nobody's fault but his that he can no longer hear his beloved younger sister's laughter echoing through the guild halls.

He's the one who caused her bright eyes to fade. He's the one who made Mirajane cry ceaselessly for days - weeks - months - _years_ before an empty tomb. He's the one who forced Natsu to raise another wall (as if there weren't several already) around his fragile heart. He's the one who broke Bixlow beyond repairing - the little boy he'd never quite noticed, the little boy who trailed behind Lisanna as if frightened of her radiance, the little boy-turned-man who now hides himself behind a mask and a grin.

And those facts alone - the fact that he's betrayed the trust of Mirajane, the fact that his carelessness has cut his precious Lisanna's life short, the fact that his thoughtlessness has resulted in the permanent shattering of two innocent young boys and their futures - are facts that he'll never, ever be able to make up for. No matter how hard he tries.


	5. jude and lucy

**Finally I have written a Lucy-centered story! She's my queen, to be honest, if you don't count Erza, Riza Hawkeye, Aida Riko, and Yachi Hitoka, and I just rEALLY LOVE HER OKAY**

 **I'm dedicating this one to one of my ultimate favourite writers, amehanaa. I hope you guys like it, this was incredibly hard to write (for some reason)!**

 **Prompt:** Smothered

* * *

There was no warmth in Jude's smiles anymore.

Lucy shivered as she huddled deeper into her blankets. Even though the night was hot and humid, goosebumps pricked at her skin, and a cold chill spread through her veins. No matter how hard she tried, she could not fall asleep, even in the comfort of her own bed and home.

That was because home didn't feel like home anymore, she thought, burying her head into her pillow and screwing her eyes closed.

She wanted her mommy back. It seemed like only yesterday that Layla was here, her soft smile illuminating the corridors of the manor, her voice reassuring and light with amusement. Sometimes she thought that she could hear Mama calling her name, and she would turn around to reply, only to stare into the empty hall. A sharp rebuke from her father would make her hurry along ahead, making her painfully aware of the stillness settling around the formerly cheerful house.

She wanted her daddy back, too. It was as if his heart had been poisoned by an evil witch, like in the fairy tales Mama used to tell her. But there was no evil witch, and there was no cure. Life wasn't a fairy tale after all, she reminded herself. That was what Father said. Life wasn't always bright and happy and full of fun. Life sometimes was rain and hail and dark, overbearing clouds. Life -

Life didn't always have happy endings.

Maybe Lucy had done something to offend Jude, but she didn't know what it was. She'd asked Mrs. Spetto what she'd done wrong yesterday. The old woman had assured her hastily in a cracked, heavy voice that Lucy was not at fault - that Father was just sad. That he was sorting out his thoughts. That he was just lonely and confused.

Well, she thought to herself as she rubbed her feet together in an attempt to warm them, Father didn't _seem_ sad in the least. He seemed really angry - whether it was at her, or at the world, or at mother, she didn't know. Lucy just wanted to see him smile again, to laugh and play with her, to spend some time with her once in a while. It didn't have to be every day. She just wanted to be with her father.

She didn't understand why Mrs. Spetto called Father lonely.

He still had her, didn't he? Then why did he seem so sad? Mother was gone - the constant lump in her throat told her that very clearly - but Father was still here. _Lucy_ was still here. Their world was broken, but not destroyed. They could repair their little kingdom, if they tried.

She'd accidentally called him Daddy yesterday, during breakfast. The strawberry jam she'd slathered on her toast was sickly sweet and burned her throat, but what made it burn even more was the fact that Father was getting up and leaving the table without greeting, speaking, or saying farewell to her.

Luy hadn't meant to call him that. It had just popped out, along with a half-choked " _Wait_!"

But the look he gave her made her decide never to, ever again.

Lucy slowly slid into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest, and watched the stars dance in the sky outside her window. They seemed to beckon at her, promising freedom from the cage that was slowly beginning to wrap itself around her.

Lucy averted her eyes, stifling another shiver. If she stared at them for too long, the stars would start to look like the light in Layla's now-dull eyes.

She wanted Mother back. She wanted Father back. She wanted her carefree happiness back, as shallow as it seemed.

Because she wanted the comfort of their arms around her. Because she wanted to take the pain away and never feel it ever again. Because she was just a little girl, and the world was too big a burden to carry on her shoulders.

Because home no longer felt like home.

Lucy pulled the blankets over her shoulders and lay down again, closing her eyes to shut out the overwhelming feeling of being trapped. As the stars shone down on her still, ice-cold figure, she could nearly imagine that she'd wake up the next day to hear the two voices she loved most in the world, and that her old life would return, whole and filled with joy. She could nearly imagine that this was all a horrible nightmare, a hallucination, an illusion of her own making.

But no matter how much she tried to conjure dreams of a life not darkened by death she could not escape the gradual tightening in her chest. Despite her age, Lucy was very aware of the crushing pressure starting to descend on her, and the shift in perspective was as sharp as a splash of cold water. She knew, with every breath she took and every word she spoke, that slowly, but surely, what had once been home to her would slowly become her prison. The life, the innocence, the hope would slowly be choked out of her until she was nothing but a shadow. Until reality flattened her dreams and desires. Until she was no longer a little girl playing with her toys but a young woman dressed in finery, meaningless words and actions conducting what she would call her life.

Lucy was terrified of what would happen next, or what she would gradually become.

But for now, under the gentle, welcoming radiance of the stars and the small and steady warmth in her heart, she would carry on. She would endure. She would be not what her father nor her circumstances would try to shape her, but what her mother had desired her to become: a strong, clever woman with a logical mind but a loving and confident soul. She would be the light of others, no matter how dark the night seemed. And she would be the protector of many lives - whether it be the world's, her own, or her father's: here and now, and in many years to come.


	6. gildarts, cornelia, and cana

**Wow, I seem to be really in the mood for dedications this week.**

 **Dedicated to one of the most amazing writers I know, gildarts (frogron on FF). Not only is she my senpai in writing fanfiction, this story is also centered around her namesake. (Good reason for dedication, I know.) Thank you for your wonderful university AU and all the shippy/friendship fics you've written that have made me smile countless times!**

 **I hope you guys have a wonderful rest of the day filled with sunshine and rainbows and cupcakes and the like. Or, if you're a naturally grumpy person (like me), lots of water, a book, and a really big fan. Why is it so hot in May?**

 **Gildarts was surprisingly fun to write, but I still kind of get the feeling that he's not exactly spot on... oh well...**

 **Prompt:** Past

* * *

Gildarts wakes with her name on his tongue.

Most mornings, he lets himself savour it, sitting in old memories for a good thirty minutes before forcing himself up to greet a new day. Sometimes he just brushes it off like dust from his shoes, though. It hurts too much to think about. On worse days he actually turns around and starts to speak (" _Hey, Cornelia -_ ") only to remember that she's not here. She's not here to reply.

His daughter resembles her - resembles Cornelia - so much that it physically aches sometimes. Looking at Cana makes him remember things that he's buried long past behind him. She makes him think of golden brown eyes and long, long waves of chocolate curling around slight but strong shoulders. She makes him think of a shy yet gentle smile, and hands that curved under his jaw, eased the strain out of his shoulders, and weaved through his unruly hair. She makes him think of the only woman he'd really loved - the one no other girl could compete against - the one who left such a big hole behind that no one could even imagine to fill it (until now). She makes him think of easier times.

Easier than now, at least. The present if still full of mysteries and twists that even he, in his childlike bravado, cannot predict. Easy to the point where he wishes he could go back to those times, see her face again, feel her lashes under his thumb as he strokes her cheek. It's so tempting to escape into the raptures of what has already gone by, to go back to an easier time.

Sure, they _were_ easier times. But Gildarts knows that he wouldn't call them better, or more lovely, or more treasured than the life he leads now.

Sometimes, though, he feels a cold hand squeeze around his heart, a chilling reminder that old ghosts never do fade fast. Old wounds start to pucker and ooze blood again. The familiar old feeling in his gut - the helpless sensation of falling through a hole with no bottom - starts to surge up again. Gildarts has to remind himself during such times that this is in the past, now, and that there is a time for everything.

A time to reap, and a time to sow. A time to mourn, and a time to rejoice. A time to receive, and a time to give.

A time to die, and a time to live.

And now, Gildarts can allow himself to say he's content, and though some people may beg to differ, he knows he is. Because even though Cornelia is gone, she's not gone for good, and he can still see the fire in her reflecting back at him in his beautiful daughter's eyes. The way Cana says " _Papa_ " or " _Dad"_ makes him swell with protectiveness, with happiness, with love. And the children he's been blessed to see grow up have, are, and probably always will turn to gaze at him through admiring eyes, offering their biggest smile and the most incredible gift he's ever received: trust. He can let his shoulders relax and grin back lazily at Natsu, at Gray, at Lucy, at Laxus, at Erza, at Juvia, at Jellal, at Gajeel, at Cana, ready to answer if any of them call his name:

"Old man!"

"Pops!"

"Gildarts!"

And his new favourite -

"Gramps!"

He looks down and he sees eager hands, bright brown eyes, and a cheeky smile that says _I am a descendant of Gildarts Clive, watch your pockets and beware._

He looks around and sees family, comfort, and the promise of never-ending adventure.

He looks up and sees the sign of the guild, the sign of Fairy Tail, the sign of home.

And he'll feel that old throb in his chest again, but it'll no longer hurt in a bad way. Instead, it'll be a pleasant thrum telling him with every beat of his heart pumping life and anticipation through him -

He'll be there. He'll be there to reply.

* * *

 **Extra note: if you can probably see those very glaringly obvious references I made, good for you! If not, those lines were taken/adapted/paraphrased from the Bible, which is my biggest inspirations for writing. ^^ Thank you for reading!**


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